


Fly Me to the Moon (The Girl From Jupiter)

by slex (slexenskee)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Basically, F/M, Fem!Harry, Girl-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Good Dursleys, I don't believe in it, No character bashing, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), don't hate me please, in written form, jk, not even the Potters I promise, or am I??, pairings hilariously undecided, shoujo manga, space invader Harry!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:27:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slexenskee/pseuds/slex
Summary: fem!Harry AU. After troubling events which led her younger sister to drop off the youngest of her twins, a baby girl, with no explanation and little fanfare, Petunia Evans does her level best to get the hell away from magic and everything about it and ends up on Jupiter. No this is not crack.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 33
Kudos: 257





	Fly Me to the Moon (The Girl From Jupiter)

_I’ve always wanted to do a good!Petunia story, and I’m a sucker for fem!Harry stories so it has to be one of those too, and I also really like Star Wars and space, and I’m also a closet fan of the sibling-who-lived trope even though I’ve never written one before, and I'm going through a huge nostalgic Shoujo manga phase rn so here we are???_

_The art for this story **IS SO REAL.** Oof. I was going to wait to post this until I had it all sorted out but then I realized I'm going for a top10 spot on the global server for Bandori and will have zero time in the near future to dedicate to it. I wanted to do like fake manga pages and everything - I probably will at some point! _

* * *

__

/ ☆ /

FLY ME TO THE MOON

## 私を月まで連れて行って

 _(The Girl From Jupiter_ ) 

/ ☆ /

Draco Malfoy is having a very odd day.

Everything had started out perfectly well; it was the day he and his parents had decided on for his school shopping, and the morning broke crisp and clear from beyond the bay windows of his room. He readied for the day and arrived at the dining room to see a spread of all of his favorite foods. Even his father was actually there for the occasion, instead of jetting off to the Ministry as he usually did. Breakfast was a light-hearted and amicable affair; he peppered his mother with questions on her time at Hogwarts, to which both his parents replied with minor anecdotes on their school days; he and his father engaged in a polite discourse on the current state of the Werewolves legislation passing through the Wizengamot.

Afterwards they embarked to Diagon Alley to begin shopping for his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His father would not be traversing with them, as he had important functions to attend to at the Ministry, but he promised to meet up with them later in the evening to dine out at one of the fine, exclusive establishments on upper Mott St. past Diagon Alley West. He and his mother apparated into the central square of Diagon Alley in their usual fine, weekend attire, very much so expecting the crowds.

Things only got worse from there, unfortunately.

First and foremost, he and his mother ran directly into the people they wanted to see the least.

It was James Potter in all his ruffled, bespectacled glory, roguish and charming and horribly underdressed for an esteemed Lord of Wizengamot, accompanied by his family. There was his wife, Lily Potter neé Evans, a youthful beauty in trendy robes with long vibrant red hair, and their son, Charles, moody and sullen and dragging his feet with a petulant expression underneath his mop of untamable dark hair. They were the _avant garde_ nouveau riche of the Wizarding World in all their glory, fabulously rich and famous with an impressive and shameless disregard for any of the Wizarding World protocols. Nevermind the fact that Lily Potter neé Evans was a mudblood of all things; she could have at least _tried_ to attempt to fit in with high Wizarding society. But instead she and her entire family had decided to disregard years of tradition and raise their son in the _laissez faire_ trend of the new upper-middle class, composed mostly of other half-blood families.

It wasn’t that Draco hated the idea of half-bloods, or even mudbloods to a degree. He just happened to hate _this_ particular family above all others.

Worse; the family of three had apparated directly in front of— almost on top of— he and his mother, so they were forced to make strained small talk before they were able to escape into Madam Malkins.

His mother already looked haggard beneath her pristinely polite expression. Draco was feeling something similar himself.

After fitting for his robes, he insisted his mother retire to a quaint tea shop up the street for a relaxing break in the shade of their outdoor patio while he went to the bookstore. His mother didn’t want to leave him, but Draco truly did insist; the weather was wonderful, and it wouldn’t do for his mother to tag along with him to _every_ store. What would people think, if the Malfoy heir couldn’t even shop for books for himself? Eventually his mother caved, and agreed to remain there for the duration of her pot of _rose petal blend,_ so long as Draco returned in a timely fashion.

And he had every intention of doing so, of course.

Malfoy’s were never _late._ They were perfectly perfunctory, or even better, ten minutes early to everything they did.

But Draco’s good day had turned into an unpleasant day and was now turning into just a plain old surreal day, and suddenly he could care less about the time.

“Excuse me— are you in need of assistance?”

A girl with wild, curly long hair and sparkling emerald eyes stares at him, upside down. She blinks at him, owlishly.

He blinks back.

“Lifeform spotted. Appears to be male, humanoid, pre-adolescent. BB-8, should I engage?”

Draco stares at her blankly. He’s very concerned he’s just met a real, legitimate crazy person. Like the kind his parents have always warned him about.

An affirmative beep cuts through the alleyway.

He realizes that the floating ball her legs are wrapped around has lit up, and in one fluid motion she hops off of it, flips over mid air and lands perfectly poised in front of him, a bit like some kind of pixie.

Draco openly stares at her. Her hair is striking like fire in the morning sunlight, spun up in twin buns on the top of her head, with the rest tumbling down her shoulders. She has an equally striking pair of big, luminescent green eyes, made larger by her big spectacles. And her outfit could only be described as ‘beyond the pale’. Draco had never seen something so ghastly or bizarre. Or indecent, for that matter. She had on some kind of pearlescent, multi-colored hooded jacket that was near blinding in the sun, a shirt that didn’t even reach her stomach, and a flouncy neon-colored skirt that was equally as blinding. This wasn’t even to remark on her shoes.

Draco backs away slowly, wondering if he could get away without her noticing if he just did it slowly enough. Maybe she was like a manticore— if you didn’t meet its eyes, and backed away slowly while facing it directly, it would let you leave in peace. Or was she like a succubus, who would consider such posture prey-like and devour him in one fell swoop?

Draco had no idea, but he was very sure of one thing: this girl was not normal in any sense of the word.

In fact, he would hard pressed to say he’d just met an alien.

“Hiya! I’m Harry Dursley. Are you here for your school shopping too?”

His expression turns from one of fear to one of utter bewilderment.

Or maybe she’s not an alien. Maybe she’s just a first year student like him, getting school shopping done.

/ ☆ /

Despite his better judgement, the day gets even more surreal. Harry tags along with him to the bookstore— but not before he insists they stop at Madam Malkins to buy some of her ready-wear pieces to swap out for Harry’s current clothes. Harry doesn’t seem to understand what’s wrong with her current outfit, but happily acquiesces nonetheless. She apparently likes clothes of all kinds.

She introduces herself as Harriett Dursley, or just Harry for short, a halfblood witch, from Jupiter.

Her mother is a muggleborn, but her father is a pureblood. She doesn’t know anything about them though, because she was raised with her Aunt and Uncle.

On Jupiter.

Draco pinches himself, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating.

He isn’t, but he wishes he was.

The little metal ball rolling at their feet she introduces as BB-8. From what Draco understands, it appears to be a familiar of some kind. BB-8 isn’t its real name, Harry reveals, but it's the name of a droid in a movie that she really likes. Draco has no idea what a droid even is, but he has no idea how to cut into the endless babbling of Harry’s monologue long enough to voice such a complaint. Even with a dark robe slung over the worst of her offensive outfit, Harry Dursley still sticks out like a sore thumb. Draco’s not even sure what it is; her hair style is odd, but hardly that horrendous. And by and large she’s hardly unattractive; actually, the way her eyes sparkle in the sun is rather bewitching (not that he’s paying attention to such a thing).

It’s the demeanor, he decides.

Everything about her just makes absolutely no sense, and she continues to walk around as if everything she does doesn’t defy everything he knows about the world.

“BB-8 isn’t very fond of cobblestones,” she’s saying currently, in her endless stream of chatter as if she has no need to breathe, “we don’t have any back home. I don’t think he knows what to do with it. I should probably just carry him, huh?”

She picks the little thing up. It beeps back at her. Draco wonders if that’s supposed to be a language. Harry turns to him with her big, curious eyes. So guileless and innocent. It’s very obvious she’s never heard of Draco Malfoy before, or the Malfoy family at all. Otherwise, a half-blood like her would at least be somewhat weary of his and his family's reputation.

“I probably can’t bring him to Hogwarts, right? The letter said cats, toads or owls.” She shrivels her nose. “But why would you ever want any of those?”

“Those are just the standard familiars.” Draco shrugs. He’s still in awe that he’s even bothering to reply at all— or that Harry stopped her outer monologue long enough for him to do so. “I actually have an eagle, not an owl.”

“Cool!” Harry says, excited, leaning towards him. “Do you have it now? Can I see?”

“Err— no, he’s at the owlery back home.” Draco leans back, trying to put a respectable amount of space between them. It appears Harry has no such compunctions.

Harry makes a noise that could really mean anything. Her big eyes are wildly looking about Diagon Alley, as she takes in all the sights around her as if it’s her first time seeing any of it. For all he knows, that could very well be true.

Now that she’s finally stopped chattering, he supposes he should try to use the opportunity to learn more about her. Namely, whether she’s actually just crazy, or telling the truth.

“So, you’re really from Jupiter?”

“Yep!” Harry replies, immediately.

Draco tries to keep the skepticism off his face. “...And, what’s it like on Jupiter?”

“Oh, well, Jupiter itself is a giant ball of poisonous gas, so no one actually lives _on_ Jupiter.” Harry explains off-handedly, as if she was addressing the recent weather patterns; “My family and I live on Ganymede, a moon that orbits around Jupiter. There are a bunch of them, Ganymede is the biggest— and most boring, if you ask me. Nothing’s on Ganymede but suburbia and sadness. My Uncle is the director at the Joint International Space Station on Lysithea though, so he’s usually there instead. It takes about three hours to commute from Lysithea to Ganymede when their orbits are aligned— which happens once every few months, so we don’t see him very often.”

Draco regrets even asking.

“Earth is _way_ different than I thought it’d be.” Harry continues, excited. “It looks just like the story books! I thought it would be more… I dunno, modern I guess, but my Aunt told me to read a lot of Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde to get a good feel of what it would be like. She really wasn’t wrong, I mean, look at these streets! They’re made of bricks!”

“What else would they be made of?” Draco asks her, perplexed.

“... Titanium alloy?” Harry says, blankly.

Draco’s stare is uncomprehending.

“Oh, this is it, right? _Flourish and Blotts_ , the book store!” Harry points wildly to the crowded shop ahead of them.

Draco almost groans at the sight, but he has better manners than that, and instead just sighs under his breath. The place looks like a right _zoo_ right now.

Draco looks between the crowded entrance and the crazy girl besides him, and makes a split decision. He grabs Harry by the arm, and frog marches them through the masses. He has a feeling Harry will have no idea how to approach such a situation, and even if she did, he can’t imagine it would be anything short of bizarre. Harry is curious over his sudden reaction, but seems happy to let him drag her around. He picks out their books in record time, feeling like he’s having an out of body experience. Why is he even doing this? He should have just kicked her down the alley he’d found her in and run in a different direction. Nevermind that she’d asked for help and directions, he should have just ignored her. Instead here he was, trying to help her as swiftly and unproblematically as possible.

There are only two potions books left when he finally manages to find their location, and it's just as he’s reaching for them that a hand leaps out on top of his own.

Draco looks up, annoyed.

His annoyance grows threefold when he sees who it is.

“Potter.” He says, like he just stepped in a pile of centaur dung.

Charlie Potter looks just as unenthusiastic to see him as well. “Malfoy.” Charlie spits back, nose sneering in disgust.

“... Potter?” The question comes from his bewildering alien friend, who is staring at Charlie Potter like _he’s_ the alien here.

Charles stares back, dark eyes narrowed into slits. “Who’s this, Malfoy. Your _girlfriend_? _Gross._ ”

“ _You’re_ gross.” Draco retorts, which wasn’t the most original comeback he’s ever had in his life, but whatever, he was caught off guard seeing Potter here so suddenly.

“Not as gross as you and your _girlfriend._ ” Potter declares, smugly.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He insists, hotly.

By his side, Harry rolls her eyes, looking bored with their bickering already. “This is a juvenile debate, you two.”

Potter just looks at her arrogantly. "And who are you, huh? Another slimy snake sucking up to Malfoy?"

Harry ignored the question, tilting her head with a narrow look that's impossible to read.

“Is it really so strange to you that Draco might have friends that are female?” Harry flips back, so suddenly even Draco is taken by surprise from it. “Maybe so, from the look of it. Girls probably stay far away from you, don’t they? I don’t think any girl would voluntarily go near you when you smell like _that_.”

Draco’s mouth opens in pure delight.

Potter flushes, scrambling backwards as he tries to discreetly sniff his shirt. “I— I don’t smell!”

“You smell like you need to be acquainted with a shower.” Harry deadpans.

Charlie flounders. “No I don’t!”

Harry swipes the remaining potion books, and pivots smartly on the heel of her atrocious neon sneaker. “Come on Draco, let’s go before it rubs off on us too.” And then, with a dramatic sniff of disgust; _“Gross.”_

“I don’t smell!” Potter insists loudly, drawing the attention of the whole row of people. His eyes widen when the nearby chatter quiets into stunned silence, and then, sputtering incomprehensibly, proceeds to turn tail and run away.

By the time Draco and Harry have absconded to a quieter row, Draco is laughing to the point of tears. “Oh _Merlin!_ Did you see his face? He looked like he was going to cry!”

Harry just shrugs. “He picked a fight with you first.”

“He always does that.” Draco reveals, after he’s caught his breath. “His father and mine don’t get along. Haven’t since the end of the first war.”

Harry looks curious at that, but doesn’t comment.

Draco wipes stray tears from his eyes, still smiling at the memory. If he wasn’t so pleased at having taken Potter down a peg or two, he would have wondered why Harry, who didn’t even blink at the mention of his own last name, would have such a strong reaction to Potter. As it is though, he’s just thrilled and secretly patting himself on the back. Sure, she might be weird, but she sure knows how to give someone a tongue-lashing. Harry would make a pretty decent Slytherin, he thinks.

He decides to tell her as much. “You know, I think you’ll be a great Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” Harry repeats, cocking her head. “You think so? Why?”

“It took you all of two seconds to knock Potter back into his place! With a clever tongue like that, you’ve _got_ to be in Slytherin!”

“Oh, that!” Harry giggles. “My cousin is around my age, so we fight all the time. I guess I’ve just gotten good at quick comebacks.”

“A trait that will only serve you well.” Draco nods sagely.

Harry grins. Draco actually takes a step back at the sight, it is so blinding. She should be careful where she aims that thing. He coughs awkwardly, making a valiant effort to will the blush staining his cheeks away and failing miserably.

“Err— at any rate, shall we pay for these books and move on to the next store?”

Harry agrees, and fortunately they manage to get out of _Flourish and Blotts_ with far less fanfare than they had entered. Despite her bizarre general demeanor, it appears Harry is at least somewhat capable of blending in with a crowd, or at least, can make passable attempt to do so. She gets a few long stares, but once again Draco is uncertain if that’s because of her odd hairstyle, her aura of strangeness, or just her plain old level of attractiveness. Even he can’t quite decide what it is about her, but it makes it difficult to keep his eyes away.

“Okay, so next I guess is stuff for Potions class? Where exactly do we get a pewter cauldron?” Harry asks aloud, procuring what is presumably her irreparably crumpled Hogwarts letter from beneath her new cloak. Draco squints at it. It’s almost illegible at this point, and seems to have been accidentally stained with oil of some kind.

“ _Potage’s Cauldron Shop_ will have plenty. Personally I use a copper cauldron, but that’s only for advanced potioneers, you know. Pewter cauldrons are for beginners, and they brew the slowest.” Draco brags shamelessly, nose in the air.

Harry either doesn’t notice or just plain ignores it, because her response is lacking the usual fawning that Pansy gives him. “Ehh? That’s so interesting— so I guess the better at conducting thermal and electric energy, the slower the brewing?”

Draco blinks at her. “Uh…”

Fortunately he doesn’t have to formulate a response, for Harry’s flighty attention is already diverted elsewhere. She points ahead of them.

“Oh, there it is! Does that mean you don’t need a cauldron, then?” Harry pauses, and frowns. “Should I just go without you?”

“What? No! Don’t be silly. I’ll go with you— who knows what sort of trouble you’ll get into otherwise…” Draco grumbles, and again has to wonder why he’s expending so much effort for a girl he hardly knows.

For her part, Harry just looks happily amused at his insistence, and follows him into the store. _Potage’s_ only sells cauldrons, so the shopping goes by much faster. Draco decides to just buy the brass scales and crystal phials also on their supply list at the _Apothecary_ , even though _Potage’s_ sells both of those in similar quality. It’s only because Draco himself has a few ingredients he’d like to pick up from there as well— it’s not as if he’s intentionally trying to drag out their school shopping to spend more time with Harry, of course not.

Still, if they’re going to be spending time together it seems silly to waste it, especially when he has so many questions.

They exit the shop with one pewter cauldron in tow, Harry slipping both her little familiar and her books into the big pot and hauling it around in her arms. Draco wonders if she’s ever heard of a shrinking trunk. Probably not.

“So, err— how exactly did you end up here?”

“End up where?” Harry is distracted with her belongings, shuffling the cauldron so she can carry it under her arm.

“Here. On Earth.” _Obviously._ What else would he be asking about?

“You mean, how did I get here? I took the Hyperion-S cruiser, it’s an Andromeda Class ship that can get from the Moon to the Jovian Sphere in less than three days! It was just unveiled last year— it’s _so cool._ It has a hydrogen reactor core that—

“No, not that.” Draco cuts her off before she ends up in a downward spiral of gibberish he doesn’t understand. “I mean… what were the circumstances that caused your… well, your existence, I guess.”

Harry stops, turns to him, and blinks. “... My existence?”

In hindsight, he could have phrased that better. He coughs awkwardly into his hand. “I just mean. Your life, I guess. I’m not sure how it is for muggles, but I’ve never heard of anyone living on the Moon, let alone another planet.”

Harry makes a thoughtful noise. “Hmm, I see. Well, what do you want to know?”

Draco doesn’t even know how to approach that question.

He sighs, defeated. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

/ ☆ /

A muffled _thud_ stirs Petunia Dursley out of her concentration, and she looks up from her cutting board to gaze out the kitchen window, scanning the horizon.

Her perfectly manicured lawn stretches out before her, with her fastidiously cut bushes and artfully arranged flower beds. Beyond that are equally as manicured houses and lawns that stretch as far as the eye can see; every house on Privet Drive is neat and tidy and just a hair off of identical. But that’s what she likes about this neighborhood. It’s a rather normal and unremarkable looking slice of suburbia, if one could discount its circumstances.

Beyond the orderly rows of rooftops peeking out over the cedar trees, there is a pale blue sky peppered lightly with clouds. The only impression of ‘otherliness’ that one can see are three large moons in the sky just past the cloud banks; Io, Callisto, and Europa, making their slow trek around Jupiter’s orbit with Ganymede in tow.

It’s not quite the perfectly normal place she wanted to raise her family, but she supposes it’s close enough.

There’s another muffled thump, followed by a cry of dismay.

“I can’t find it!” A girl’s voice cries aloud, coming from upstairs. “It’s not here! Dudley, do you see it?”

A third thump. Then the resigned groan of her son, and the sound of his bedroom door opening. “It’s not in here, Harry. You definitely lost it.”

“No!” She gasps in horror. “No way! Where could I have left it? At school? Or Nina’s house? I can’t have lost it— Kai gave that to me for my White Day!”

“Oh _no_ ,” Dudley emphasizes, sarcastically. “Not Kai. _Anyone_ but him. The horror. How can I go on?”

“Bugger off, Duds,” Petunia can all but _see_ her niece’s eye roll. “You’re just jealous because no girls gave _you_ chocolate for Valentine’s Day!”

“Untrue!” Dudley denies. “I got tons of chocolate.”

“Sure, _giri_ chocolate.”

“What does it matter? Chocolate is chocolate!”

Petunia sighs, deciding she should probably break up this argument before the two really start bickering. Honestly, what is this argument even about? They’re barely eleven years-old, why are they even arguing about Valentine’s Day at all? Not to mention it was already months ago at this point.

“Enough you two,” she calls loudly, startling them both. “Anyway, aren’t you both going to the summer festival? You’re going to be late.”

Her son comes down first, looking put upon with the whole situation. By and large, boys are significantly less enthused with the idea of a _natsumatsuri_ than girls are. He’s wearing what she’s fairly sure is the exact same shirt from yesterday, a pair of baggy shorts and worn out sneakers that she insists he throw out but he refuses because they’re ‘more fashionable this way’, and his trademark expression of boredom that he and all his friends toss around like girls use hair accessories. As if he’s too cool for this world and he wants everyone in it to know it.

_Boys,_ she thinks, fondly.

His hair is a mess, and she walks over with a fond expression of exasperation to attempt to make it look more presentable. Unsurprisingly Dudley makes a noise of protest, and once she’s finished, throws on a backwards baseball cap just to spite her. Petunia rolls her eyes. Boys at this age are just obnoxious. He never wants to do his own laundry even though Petunia refuses to do it for him anymore, spends all his time reading _manga_ and playing video games, and thinks he’s too cool for things like ‘I love you’s’ and affectionate hugs from his mother. He still accepts her _bento_ every morning though, but she has a feeling that won’t last for long. Once he’s in Junior High he’ll probably shrug it off and insist all the cool boys buy bread and junk food from the store instead of accepting homemade, healthy lunches from their mothers.

Now _girls,_ on the other hand.

“Auntie,” a sad, plaintive voice calls from the top of the stairs.

Petunia’s eyes light up when she sees her niece at the top of the stairs.

This is hardly the first time either of them have attended a summer festival, but it _is_ the first time Harry wanted to wear a special _yukata_ for the occasion. Petunia was near beside herself with joy. Her eyes may have teared up a bit as she took her niece shopping for a special bonding day, just the two of them, and Harry had exited the dressing room with the help of a shop attendant wearing a beautiful checkered yukata covered in soft yellow petunias. Petunia had voiced her appreciation for a pink chrysanthemum patterned one, but Harry had refused, even though pink was her favorite color. She said she wanted the yellow one, because it had petunias on it, and she wanted one that reminded her of her Auntie. Petunia had to turn her head away and shove her niece back into the dressing room lest she shed a few tears in front of the entire store.

Harry is currently dressed in that exact checkered yukata, with the obi loose in her hands, hair wild and untamed and falling loose around her shoulders, wearing a pathetic expression of pure sadness. She sniffles dramatically. “Auntie, I can’t tie the bow, my hair keeps coming out wrong, I don’t have the right shoes and I _lost_ the bracelet Kai gave me for White Day.” She bemoans, loudly. And then, near bursting in tears, “Today is the worst!”

Petunia rolls her eyes, just as fondly as she had with Dudley. “Oh come now, there’s no need to be dramatic. Come down here, and let’s see about fixing you up.”

Petunia ushers her sniffling niece into the kitchen, where she procures a stool for the girl to stand on. Afterwards she goes about attempting to tie this complicated _obi,_ in an approximate style to what she sees other people wear. She’s never worn one herself, but they’re common enough on Ganymede, a former Japanese colony that has zealously retained the roots of its home country.

Dudley gives a loud sigh, and shuffles over towards the couch, probably realizing they’re going to be a while. From the living room she can hear the sounds of his game device. Well, at least he’s entertaining himself, and not complaining loudly and impatiently in her ear.

With a sharp tug, she knots the tie in place. Harry gives a grunt as the breath is knocked out of her, but otherwise doesn’t complain. Petunia fixes the nice, round bow centered on Harry’s back with a look of approval. Once that’s taken care of she has her sit at the kitchen table so she can go about a battle plan for her hair.

Petunia sighs, running her fingers through the long, silky curls. “Harry, dear, your hair really is quite beautiful. I understand you want to keep it long, but you really ought to take better care of it.”

Let it not be said that Petunia Dursley doesn’t love her son. Dudley is her absolute darling. He’s spoiled rotten by anyone’s account.

But she just _adores_ Harry.

Almost eleven years ago now, when her perfect little sister Lily had shown up on her doorstep rain drenched and pitiful, she had been beyond enraged.

Lily was _always_ doing things like this. She was the picture perfect little sister, and their parents doted on her endlessly; Lily was the apple of their eye. A special, magical little witch with her perfect, bouncy red curls. Lily always got what she wanted, even at the expense of others (usually her sister). Petunia had long since learned to just accept this as fact and move on; years of therapy and a couple really volatile years in Uni had given her a bland, resigned acceptance of Lily’s existence. She would never be close to her sister, and she knew the sentiment was shared.

Lily had sent her a note a year after she’d gotten married to inform her sister of the nuptials. In response, Petunia hadn’t even bothered to inform her sister of hers. Petunia gave birth to a healthy, happy blonde boy, and all of Vernon’s family came down to celebrate. Lily, Petunia’s only family, was suspiciously absent. In response, Lily gave birth to twins, and Petunia hadn’t known until right at this moment, when the woman had shown up at her door with one of them in tow.

Petunia had taken one look at her sopping wet sister, the squalling baby in her arms, and another, wild and hysterical look around the neighborhood. She quickly ushered in her estranged sister before any of the neighbors could see.

Lily’s stay was brief. She revealed that she and her husband had been hunted for the past two years by a mad, dark wizard who was waging war on Magical Britain. Petunia had almost zero sympathy for the woman; something was going wrong in her life, for once. How sad. She mentioned precious little else on the situation. All she could emphasize was that the baby in her arms had to go. The baby was a danger to itself and to Lily’s precious little family. Her husband wanted it killed— the people on her side of the war were wary of it, but were reluctant to do something so final. People were after the little thing. And the baby itself had unusual circumstances about it— although Lily would not say what they were when Petunia asked— and Lily had mentioned her muggle sister as a possible caretaker. She had come to ask Petunia to care for the child as her own. The expenses would be paid for in full, she assured. Her husband came from old money, apparently.

Petunia had felt a lot of emotions in that moment. Reluctance was strong and heavy, coupled with anger at her sister for putting her in this position, outrage that the woman could even think this was acceptable in any sense of the word, and pity for both herself and the child, thrust into a situation neither of them should have to be in.

She remembers one emotion prevailing over all the others, though: pure displeasure.

She didn’t want her sister’s child. She didn’t want anything to do with her sister, period. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be on her to raise yet another infant alongside Dudley. Vernon was already absent due to work, and even with the help of his family, Petunia was still struggling with the stress of childcare. And to have another on top of it? Another that she didn’t even _want_?

Petunia had half a mind to just kick her sister back out into the rain.

She didn’t though. To this day Petunia wasn’t sure what made her accept.

“Auntie?”

But Petunia knew one thing; she didn’t regret it.

“What is it, darling?”

“Can you do something nice with my hair?” Harry asks, in a shy voice.

Petunia continues to carefully untangle Harry’s long goldenrod curls. “Nice like what?”

“I dunno.” Harry shrugs. “I just want to look pretty.”

Petunia smiles, amused. “Might this have something to do with the boy you gave those Valentine’s Day chocolates to?”

Petunia remembers the day, months ago, quite vividly. Harry and her school friends had procured her immaculate kitchen to commit a hideous crime upon the art of baking. By the end of it, all of them were in tears, and Petunia had to roll up her sleeves and salvage the situation before the damage to her kitchen became irreparable. Harry had come home from school the next day with a beaming smile and an energy meter cranked up to the highest voltage, so she had assumed the gift giving had gone well. Well enough to warrant a return gift on White Day, clearly. She could hazard a _wild_ stab in the dark and assume this same boy would be at the festival tonight.

“... _Maybe._ ” Harry says, and when Petunia glances down her face is bright red.

She would tease her, but she finds the entire thing far too adorable to risk overly embarrassing the girl.

_This_ is what she loves about having a little girl.

The dresses, the hairstyles, the chatter about Valentine’s Day and boys and all things fluffy and pink. Petunia had always wanted a baby girl. She was thrilled to have a wonderful, healthy baby boy, of course, but she’d spent the first year of Dudley’s life quietly lamenting all the adorable baby dresses she’d had to forego in favor of the more sedated boys section. Having Harry unceremoniously dropped on her doorstep had opened up the possibility of once more having a darling little girl to play dress up with.

Harry had come into her life bluntly and abruptly, but she had ended up being the best thing that had ever happened to her short of the birth of her own child. If her sister and her husband were stupid enough to give away such a blessing, that was their own damn fault.

“I see,” Petunia replies, gamely. “Well then, I think something special is in order then, no?”

Petunia ends up whipping up a somewhat casual style with a loose french braid down one shoulder, with a few flower pins to keep the worst of her curls out of her hair. She’s sure her rambunctious niece will have messed up the majority of it by the end of the night, so she had gone with a style that would only look progressively cuter the messier it got. She was so thrilled with her handiwork she insisted Dudley and Harry pose for photos before they went. Dudley looked as if his patience with the whole thing was about to snap, but Harry happily posed for the camera.

Petunia smiles down at the photos, sending them to Vernon, who wasn’t due to return to Ganymede until far later in the evening.

“You two have fun, okay? And stay safe.” She presses a couple bills into both of their hands. “Don’t stay out too long. And Dudley, look out for your cousin, okay?”

Dudley rolls his eyes. “Of course, Mum, you worry too much.”

Harry nods. “We’ll be fine! See you later!”

Petunia watches the two of them trek down the street, Dudley looking long-suffering as he slows his pace for Harry, who is having trouble navigating her motor skills in a kimono. With a loud sigh, her son holds out his hand so Harry can balance herself on her sandals. Harry smiles at him gratefully. Whatever Dudley says in response makes her laugh loudly. They turn the corner and Petunia loses sight of them.

Her heart feels warm and heavy.

Throughout her life, it was always difficult to tell whether she was making the right choices or not.

She’d been unsure about Vernon at first, a gregarious, heavy-set man attending graduate school at her University. The men Petunia usually gravitated towards were… well, in hindsight, not the best choices. Sporty and a bit dense, they were usually good-looking without much depth. Vernon was the opposite; on the heavier side, with a crooked smile and a hideous nervous laugh, and enough brain power to launch him into space, literally. He was taking a highly-coveted job on the Moon Orbital station after college— the only Brit to be chosen for the multi-national team.

They hadn’t dated for very long before they were discussing marriage, and again, Petunia had been terribly uncertain at the time whether or not such a prospect was desirable, or even wanted. Her little sister Lily had gotten married right out of high school— or the magical equivalent— and Petunia had vowed not to make the same mistake. She would take her time and see the world before she made her choice. And yet here she was, only two years out of Uni, and she was thinking about getting married to a man who didn’t even spend half the year on the same planet as her.

After getting married, they’d both decided to hold off on children until Vernon’s tenure on the Orbital station was over and he could move back to Britain, and hopefully get himself a job with predictable hours so Petunia could carefully and meticulously ration out their schedules for when they had a baby. She had planned out their work schedules, her own maternity leave, Vernon’s hypothetical promotions, the background of their nanny— bilingual, with a degree in both language and child development— the best daycares within reasonable distance and the stringent requirements for the most prestigious of kindergartens.

And then Dudley came. Early, and unplanned.

Vernon and Petunia talked it over, and came to a mutual agreement that Vernon would finish up his current job, and would take some time off to help look after Dudley once Petunia’s maternity leave was over. Her best laid plans had been upended, but they were still salvageable. She could make it work.

Then Vernon was offered a job as Chief Scientist on Lysithea, all the way in _Jupiter_ of all places— a promotion at least eight times over.

Again, Petunia’s plans were shaken. She was doubting her choices. Should Vernon _really_ turn down an offer like that? It wasn’t the sort of position offered to just anyone. To even be considered would require the recommendation of three out of the five countries cooperating on the Joint Space Station— recommendations that were signed and approved by the _leaders_ of those countries. That they would all unanimously agree on Vernon was… well, it was enough to make Petunia doubt. Vernon was steadfast in his decision, however. He would do what was best for his family first, not his career.

And so, reluctantly, they again came to mutual agreement that Vernon would decline the offer.

It must have been fate, Petunia reasoned, that Harry was dropped off on their doorstep that very same night.

Vernon had returned home that evening to _two_ wailing infants, a frazzled wife on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the majority of their belongings packed up in boxes. Petunia had turned to him with a frenzied look in her eyes and declared that they would take their family— surprise niece included— as far away from Earth as was physically possible. In this instance, Jupiter was decently far enough away to fit the bill. Vernon had been too stunned to do anything else but agree.

Once again all of Petunia’s plans went flying out the window, due to choices she had thought were sound at the time.

In hindsight, she couldn’t say they were the most _reasonable_ of choices, but they were her own, and she didn’t regret them in the least.

In fact, as she heard Dudley’s loud laugh from somewhere past their row of houses, she was actually quite happy with how they turned out. 

/ ☆ /

Dudley despairs for himself sometimes.

Apparently there might have been a version of his life in which he wasn’t basically a twin with an overly dramatic, overly energetic, prone to crying sister, but if there was he’d never know it. He and Harry were joined at the hip since before he was even capable of forming proper memories, and so he couldn’t imagine a life without the theatrics, the unconstrained energy, and the unnecessarily enthusiastic approach to life.

Maybe if he had lived a life without a buoyant chatterbox by his side, he wouldn’t be sitting here at the summer festival, morose and conflicted.

“What’s up Duds?” Piers, his oldest friend, nudges him in the side with his elbow. “You gonna eat that _takoyaki_ or what?”

Dennis snickers under his breath. “Don’t tell me you’re on a _diet,_ Dudley.” The lanky, blonde-haired boy cackles. A group of girls in cute kimono pass them, and he straightens up and tosses his floppy platinum hair in their direction. They summarily ignore him.

“Duds could use a diet, frankly.” Says Gordon, blandly, to his left. Gordon is halfway into his third _kakigori,_ so Dudley hardly thinks he’s in a position to talk.

“You’re not exactly svelte yourself there, Gordy,” Dudley replies, uncharitably. “And you’ve got half your shaved ice down your shirt already.”

Gordon gasps, looks down, and realizes he does, indeed, have a giant splash of red syrup down his shirt. He curses loudly, and runs for the restrooms as the rest of the group laughs. Dudley is glad for the distraction, as it has effectively steered the conversation away from him.

While his group of rowdy boys are distracted, Dudley peers down the rows of stalls, wondering where Harry had run off to.

He scowls, and takes a vigorous bite out of his takoyaki.

Mum had asked him to look after her, he reminded himself. She had looked worried earlier at the idea of them going to the festival for the first time on their own, even though it was just a small summer festival thrown by their neighborhood. It was a concern well deserving though, knowing Harry, who always managed to get herself into some kind of trouble. Or some kind of _drama,_ which is far worse.

“Oi, Dudley, ain’t that your cousin over there?” This comes from Malcolm, a tall bean sprout of a boy with wild, curly blonde hair. Like Dudley, he’s attempted to hide the worst of the mop he calls hair with a backwards cap; unlike Dudley, he appears to be failing at it miserably.

The boys all look to where he’s pointing up ahead of them with his popsicle stick.

It is Harry.

A great deal of her hair has fallen haphazardly around her shoulders, and her bow is crooked. The flower pin in her hair is in danger of falling right off. Dudley rolls his eyes, wholly unsurprised. She probably got too overly invested in trying to catch goldfish in _kingyo sukui,_ or something.

But then she turns slightly, and underneath the strings of festival lights he can see that her eyes are red and puffy. It’s then that he realizes the girl by her side— one of her super annoying friends— isn’t just hanging off of her arm, but appears to be actively trying to console her. Dudley notices with trepidation that the loose strands of hair escaping from her braid are starting to levitate around her head in an odd manner. That’s not a good sign. It reminds Dudley that his Mum has very good reason to want him to look out for Harry— Harry tends to do… strange, physics-defying things.

Harry shakes her head, says something to her friend, and then runs off. Her friend calls loudly for her, but Harry is already disappearing in the throngs of people.

With an annoyed sigh, Dudley shoves the rest of his street vendor food at Piers.

“You can have the rest,” Dudleys says over his shoulder, as he makes for where he saw Harry last.

Piers almost drops the carton. “Huh? You don’t want it?”

“Nope.”

“Oi! Where are you going?”

“Don’t wait up!” Dudley shouts, and with a vague wave above his head he starts fighting through the slow moving current of festival goers.

It doesn’t take too long to find Harry, on a dark side street off the main path, far from the bright lights and noise. She’s sitting on a bench outside a convenience store, holding a can of vending machine hot chocolate. She looks sullen and miserable.

“Is this still about your stupid bracelet?” Dudley grouses, by way of greeting.

Harry’s head snaps up in surprise. The jerky movement dislodges her hair pin, which slides further down towards her ear. Dudley scowls, and reaches over to unclip it.

“... Where’d you come from?” Harry asks, instead of answering.

“Ditched my friends. And you didn’t answer my question.” Dudley replies, as he attempts to clip their pin back where his mother had placed it before. He doesn’t quite manage to succeed, but at least it’s not falling off anymore. His friends would make fun of him if they saw him helping his cousin with her hair, but his Mum always says he’s the ‘older brother’ and he needs to look out for his ‘little sister’, even if they aren’t actually siblings.

Anyway, he doesn’t like seeing Harry cry. No one is allowed to make Harry cry but _him._

“No, I found the bracelet. It was at Nina’s house.” Harry answers, in a small voice.

Dudley frowns. “So what’s the problem?”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“... Boys are stupid.”

_Oh._ This is _that_ conversation.

Since Dudley and Harry go to the same elementary school, it’s not as if he doesn’t know the boy in question. He’s in Harry’s class, and he’s on the baseball team or something. He’s kind of annoying, in Dudley’s opinion, but Harry yells at him whenever he says it. She says he’s super cool— like, _way_ cooler than Dudley and his good-for-nothing hooligan friends, who wear trendy sweatshirts and backwards baseball caps, as if that is at all an indication of nefariousness.

He has half a mind to laugh at her and tell her ‘I told you so’, but he knows his mum and dad will yell at him, and he’s supposed to be the responsible and mature older brother, so he’s above such juvenile nonsense.

“Yeah, boys are dumb.” He agrees, instead.

Harry peers up at him, smile playing at the edges of her lips. “Are you calling yourself dumb?”

“I guess so.” Dudley shrugs. “I’m sure I’ve done something dumb in my life… at least once.”

“You’re not dumb.” Harry retorts, rolling her eyes. “You’re like the smartest kid in the class— even if you always sleep through every lesson.”

Dudley just shrugs enough. That’s true enough. He’s not all that great at things like language and history like Harry is, but he’s years ahead of his grade in math and science.

Harry goes quiet again. Her expression is pensive, like she’s reconsidering basically every decision in her short life. Which is a bit excessive, in his opinion, but Harry is always nonsensically dramatic over everything so it’s really no surprise. He doesn’t think she needs to reconsider her whole life, but the past year is fair enough.

“He came to the festival with Lisa, another girl from our class.” Harry confesses, after a long moment.

Dudley frowns. “Are you sure it’s not just a misunderstanding?”

“They were _holding_ _hands._ ”

Ah. That’s like the elementary school equivalent of a full on PDA session. No wonder Harry is so upset.

“I even took the entrance exams for Misuzu Junior High because he was going there!” Harry wails, finally admitting what Dudley had suspected all year.

“You seriously chose your school over a _boy_?”

“Well I wanted to go to Ryuhoku with you but I knew I wasn’t smart enough to go there.” Harry explains, sadly. “So I wanted to go for the next best thing. Besides, Nina is going there, and it’s walking distance from our house. It’s not like it’s a _bad_ school.” Harry defends, lamely.

Dudley just stares at her blankly. He thinks Harry’s selling herself a bit short here, honestly. Sure she’s super annoying and into all the super annoying stuff girls their age are, but she’s actually very smart and clever when she applies herself. She’s not a certified genius like Dudley is or anything, but she’s hardly average. Then he sighs.

“Well, whatever. Do you want to go home now?”

Harry thinks on it, then shakes her head. “No. If we go back now Auntie will ask why we’re back so early… and I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Dudley sighs. He doubts she wants to sit here either, or go back to the festival and see all her friends and that blasphemous boy she’s heartbroken over. “Why don’t we just take the long way home, then? Across town?”

Harry considers this, then nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Dudley stands and stretches. He grabs Harry’s empty can of hot chocolate from the bench beside her and tosses it into the rubbish bin. Afterwards he looks back at her to realize she’s having even more trouble with her shoes now than she had earlier. With an aggrieved look of exasperation he holds out a hand for her to steady herself, and reminds himself that his mother will be cross with him if he doesn’t look after her properly.

Their walk is silent as they make their way down the quiet town streets. Everyone is out at the festival, leaving the usually bustling downtown devoid of the more unmanageable crowds. This is fortunate, because Harry is walking slower than molasses. It’s very obvious she’s slower than usual because she’s trying to look graceful in shoes she doesn’t know how to walk in, that she wore anyway, because she wanted to impress a boy with her outfit. _Girls._ He’ll never understand them.

“Why don’t you just take them off?” He asks, as they stop at a crosswalk.

Harry scowls at him. “I can walk in them.” She insists.

“Why bother?” He points out. “Just take them off. Your feet will feel better.”

Harry looks like she might protest, and then thinks better of it. She leans down to slide off her sandals, which is a bit of a production in and of itself. When she’s done she also upends all his mother’s hard work on her hair, massaging her scalp with a relieved sigh.

“It is pretty stupid, isn’t it,” she says, after a long moment.

The crosswalk blinks at them. Harry is far faster now without her unwieldy shoes, and keeps pace with him easily.

“What is?” He asks, idly.

“You know, dressing up and stuff for a boy.” Harry explains, grimacing.

“I’m sure it wasn’t just that,” Dudley says.

Harry shrugs. “It may as well have been.”

He scoffs. “Harry, you use everything as an excuse to dress up. Why would a festival be any different?”

Well, when he puts it like that, it does seem like something she would do. Harry grins. “Yeah, that’s true. I _was_ pretty cute too, wasn’t I?”

It’s Dudley’s turn to grimace. “Gross.”

“Hey!” Harry protests, but it’s mostly in jest.

They turn the corner, and suddenly a large, domineering complex of buildings overtakes their view of the surrounding city. All the lights in the windows are still on, despite the late hour and the festival going on. That’s no real surprise though; the Ganymede laboratory facilities don’t close for anything, Dudley’s fairly sure. His father should be in there somewhere, but Mum said he wouldn’t be back until late.

“... You’re really okay, right?” He asks, tearing his gaze away from the steel towers.

Harry blinks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just— back there… you were… doing that thing again.”

Harry blinks again, and then her face goes pale. “Oh.” She says. “... I was?”

He nods. “Yeah. Your hair was standing up all weird.”

Harry looks down, wringing the sleeves of her yukata in her hand. “Was it really noticeable?” She asks, in a small voice.

“No, not really. I don’t think anyone else would have thought anything of it.” Especially if they didn’t know what to look for. It was far tamer than the displays she used to have as a child.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Dudley frowns. “Why are you apologizing?”

Harry gives him a half shrug. “Well… it’s really weird, isn’t it? Plus, I did it in public.”

Dudley wonders when her opinion on her strange Jedi tricks did such a one-eighty from what he remembers. When they were younger, it was their fun secret. Dad was a huge Star Wars fan, so it was something they grew up with. Learning that his little cousin was basically a Jedi had been the coolest thing ever. Dudley had been very upset to learn he didn’t have any Force powers too though. His parents said that Harry got it from her real Mum and Dad. Dudley pointed out that his Mum and Harry’s Mum were related, so the gene must have been randomly mutated at some point, and statistically speaking that meant Dudley should also have a fair shot of it. All the same, they never manifested in him like they did Harry. That never stopped them both from dressing up like Luke and Leia every year for Halloween, to his father’s delight.

At night, sometimes he and Harry would sit in her room and she’d practice levitating her toys around. Ever the scientist, Dudley was always pressing her to try out new experiments so they could see the limitations of her ‘force powers’. She couldn’t do any Jedi mind tricks, no matter how hard they tried on the kids in their kindergarten. She _could_ teleport though, they found out the hard way, when she disappeared from the classroom one day and ended up on the roof. That was the day his Mum and Dad told them both that it was really dangerous for her to keep doing those things. She might accidentally hurt herself, or someone else. Ever since then, Harry had made a concerted effort not to use her cool Force powers like she used to, and definitely not in public.

Dudley scrutinizes her closely.

Even after that, they would still use the cover of darkness to try out new tricks. Harry was really good at levitating things; she could even levitate Dudley, and make objects float indefinitely. They tried very hard to do it sneakily, and only sometimes, but Dudley was fairly sure his parents still knew what was going on. They must have deemed it safe enough, since it was only in the house. Harry could teleport them to Dudley’s room and back, but it made his stomach sick and gave him a headache so they stopped doing that. There were all sorts of things she could do, and they both always thought it was cool.

He couldn’t help but wonder what could have changed that.

Then he narrows his eyes at her. He wasn’t considered a genius for no reason; he could put the pieces together.

“You told Kai you were a Jedi, didn’t you.”

Harry looks down, shamefaced.

As he suspected.

Dudley lets out a long breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I take it that didn’t go well?”

Harry shakes her head miserably. “He thought it was super creepy. Like I was an evil story book witch or something.”

“ _Or_ you’re a Jedi padawan out to overthrow the Sith.” He turns around.

Harry bites her lip. “Kai doesn’t really like Star Wars.”

Dudley stares at her, outraged. “Then he’s _worthless._ ” He proclaims. “He’s absolutely not worth your time. He’s not even worth getting sad over. Pretend he doesn’t exist.”

This brings forth a smile from the girl. “ _Now_ who’s being dramatic, Dudley?”

“I’m being totally serious.” Dudley sniffs. “Not liking Star Wars… are you sure he’s even human? He might be a Borg sent out to destroy humanity.”

Harry giggles.

“Dudley? Harry? What are you two doing here?”

They both startle at the sudden voice. Dudley looks up to see his father exiting from one of the side gates, window of his car rolled down as he stares at them in surprise.

“Dad,” Dudley says, surprised.

“Uncle Vernon! You’re home early!” Harry enthuses.

“Surprising, innit? There’s no traffic out today though, what a relief!”

“There’s a festival downtown.” Dudley explains.

“Oh, is that today?” Vernon pauses. “Why Harry, don’t you look cute! Did you two just come from there?”

Harry goes quiet at the mention of the festival, and furthermore, the boy still there, staring down at her dirty socks. “Yeah. But we’re on our way home now.” Dudley answers for them.

“Ah! Well then, hop in! Good timing, Harry, I have something here for you.”

Harry looks up curiously. Vernon ushers them into the car.

Once they’re on the road again, he leans back to hand Harry something. It looks like… mail.

“... A letter?” Harry takes it curiously.

Dudley stares at it suspiciously. “And they couldn’t just send an email?” But seriously, who sends out mail these days, but crummy marketers and people hounding you for money?

His Dad chuckles nervously. “Ah, well, Duds, there are some people who uh, don’t have emails.”

Dudley shrivels his nose. “What? Like who?”

“... Like the… Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Harry says, mouthing the words out slowly, as if they were in a foreign language she’d never even heard of.

Dudley looks at her in surprise. From the rear view mirror, he sees that his father’s expression is still grim and difficult to read.

“The what now?” He asks, confused.

Harry scans through the letter enclosed within the envelope. The heavy cardstock casing falls to the side, and Dudley picks it up. There’s a deep red wax seal that Harry had to split open to open it. A real, honest to God wax seal. Stamped with a crest and everything. It looks like it belongs in a museum. The outside is addressed to _Harriet Rose Dursley, Number 4 Privet Drive, Sector 5, Ganymede, Jovian Sphere,_ in a lacy inked script.

Harry lowers the letter. Her eyes are wide and blank as she stares outside at the passing scenery. At this time of night, the faint outline of Jupiter’s rings are visible in the night sky, the gas giant itself is looming over the horizon, its single, solemn eye fixed upon Ganymede.

“It’s a magical school.” Harry reveals, after a long moment.

Dudley’s confusion only grows. “We have a magical school here?”

Harry shakes her head slowly. Her hair pin falls from her tangled curls, and she doesn’t even have the presence of mind to pick it up. “No,” she says. “Not here. On Earth. In Britain.”

/ ☆ /

Some days, when she’s feeling particularly spiteful and smug, Petunia cracks open one of her many photo albums and silently laughs at her sister who threw away something so precious.

They usually center around moments of achievement; when Harry won her first grade spelling bee, _(by the skin of her teeth)_ , Harry’s first piano recital _(she quit right after)_ , her subsequent decision to play the guitar and drag Dudley into joining a band with her that culminated in an impromptu neighborhood concert _(after weeks of Petunia wearing ear plugs in the house and shouting at them to close the garage doors and windows)_ , her first swim meet _(that phase didn’t last long)_ , and her first gymnastics meet _(that also didn’t last long)_ — the memories look so lovely in film, but the substance behind them is what really makes them so precious.

It’s the things that are not photographed that Petunia keeps close to her heart. The way Harry had lept into her arms after she’d managed to spell ‘onomatopoeia’ correctly (on accident); the hours they spent at the piano together, Petunia trying not to scream as Harry whittled down her patience with her incorrigible ability to never find the middle C; Harry and Dudley’s laughter as they spent hours in the garage banging on drums and wailing on a guitar and generally making a horrendous amount of noise at indecent hours of the day.

Lily missed all of it.

She missed Harry’s first word, her first day at school, her first sleepover, her first crush. Sure, she probably made memories with the son she chose to keep, but they weren’t memories with _Harry._ She might even have another baby girl already, a replacement for the defective one she’d given away. But it wouldn’t be the same. Petunia honestly couldn’t imagine a more perfect little girl than her own, and she doesn’t think it’s all that vain of her to say so. Harry really is quite perfect.

The front door rattles open, and Petunia quietly slips the photo album back onto the shelf.

“Honey, we’re home!”

She startles, walking into the main hall towards the front door. “Vernon, is that you?” He wasn’t due back until much later in the evening, he’d said.

“Yes, the meeting was cancelled. And I picked up some stray cats on the way back!”

“ _What_?” Petunia shrieks.

There is loud, bombastic laughter as she turns the corner, and she realizes the stray cats her husband is referring to are in fact their two kids. Her excitement over her husband’s early arrival dims when she catches sight of the two; Dudley looks as unimpressed with life as usual, slouching with his hands wedged in his pockets, but Harry’s meticulous hairstyle is totally ruined, her socks are dirty, and she has on a blank expression that doesn’t suit her usually exuberant niece at all.

Petunia frowns. “Harry, Dudley, what happened?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, looking down at an opened envelope in her hands.

Petunia recognizes the seal. How could she not? The memory is emblazoned in the back of her mind; the day Lily Evans received her Hogwarts letter had been an upheaval of everything Petunia knew in life.

She gasps softly. “Oh, Harry,” she says.

Harry looks up at her with big eyes. “Auntie, I think I’m a witch.”

She looks so upset that Petunia reaches for her in sympathy. Then she bursts into tears and throws herself into Petunia’s arms. “I really am a witch! An evil witch!”

Perplexed, Petunia runs her fingers through Harry’s mess of hair, and guides her towards the sitting room. “You’re hardly evil, dear. But yes, you are a witch. Of course you are. You’ve been doing magic tricks since you were three years-old!”

Harry’s mouth opens in surprise— or shock. Or perhaps even horror. She looks positively dismayed. “I thought I was a Jedi.”

Petunia coughs into her hand in the pretense of clearing her throat. In reality, she’s trying to hide her laughter. “Well, err— they don’t exist.”

“But witches do?” Harry asks, truly flummoxed.

Yes, she supposes for someone who grew up thinking both were the things of fiction, witches and wizards would seem rather arbitrary.

Petunia nods. “Yes, your mother and father were both magical. They live in a magical society, separate from normal society, in Britain.”

Harry stares at her with wide eyes. This isn’t news to her, exactly, but it’s the first time Petunia has been so forthcoming on the issue.

Perhaps a part of her was reluctant to ever explain the subject in full. Acknowledging it would mean acknowledging that Petunia was not actually Harry’s mother— that Lily and James Potter were her parents, and that she rightfully should have lived with them. That the cherished memories she has of Harry are perhaps not hers to have.

“Both your parents went to Hogwarts. They met there, I believe.” Petunia adds.

Harry still doesn’t look as if she’s properly processed any of this, but Petunia supposes that’s to be expected. She also supposes she really ought to have broached this subject earlier, but she had honestly… well, she had honestly thought she wouldn’t have to. She thought Jupiter was far enough away. Far enough that a measly little letter to a Magical school would never rip her precious daughter away from her.

Petunia sighs deeply. “I’m sorry, Harry. I should have explained this all to you before the letter got to you. You see, you are a witch, from a long line of witches and wizards— on your father’s side, at least. Your real name is Rose Dorothea Potter. Your father, James Potter, is something of an aristocrat I believe. He comes from old money. Your mother, my sister, was what they call a ‘muggleborn’— the first magical person in her family. After she attended Hogwarts, she married James and went to live in the Magical World with him.”

Harry takes this all in with big, watery green eyes. They remind Petunia painfully of Lily.

Usually she likes to focus more on Harry’s hair— long, silky, and a shade near golden, it is quite similar to Petunia’s own fair hair, and nothing at all like Lily’s fiery red. But it's impossible to ignore the startling green color in this moment; they are, in fact, far more vivid than she remembers Lily’s being. Harry’s eyes have always been enchanting in their own way, but Petunia had always assumed that magic had something to do with it.

She reaches out to brush her niece’s unruly locks of hair out of her eyes. Without the thick curls over her forehead, the curious lightning bolt scar at her temple is visible. Petunia had been giving her coverup to mask it ever since Harry had been a young girl self conscious about the weird scar on her head. It’s strange to see it now, after so long. Harry must have been rubbing her forehead— a nervous tick of hers— quite a bit for it to rub off like this.

Harry’s brow furrows. “So… they’re still alive?”

Petunia swallows with difficulty. She finds she can’t answer; her eyes flicker to Vernon, seated across from them. His expression is grave and pensive. In the chair opposite, Dudley is listening to the newly revealed information with wide eyes.

The silence lingers unbearably in the still air of the sitting room. Petunia has half a mind to open a window.

She manages a stiff nod.

Harry’s mouth thins into a fine line. Her expressive eyes are suddenly difficult to read. “Then why… why did they…” She struggles for words. Her mouth moves a few times, but nothing comes out. Finally, she manages; “How did I end up with you?”

It’s Petunia’s turn to choke up a little. She draws in a shaky inhale, hands clasped in her lap. “Well, I’m not entirely sure myself. Your mother came to me one night, with you in her arms. She said… due to circumstances, she couldn’t keep you.”

“Circumstances?” Harry repeats, frowning. “What kind of circumstances?”

“There was someone after your family. Someone bad. A dark wizard. The Wizarding World was in civil war at the time, and your parents were on the opposite side of the war from him. For whatever reason, he was hunting you and your parents religiously. He managed to find your parents… and there was some kind of confrontation. Ultimately, they believed something happened to you during that… that confrontation. They weren’t sure if it would be dangerous, so they took you and left your brother—

“ _My brother?_ ” Harry gasps, shocked.

Petunia grimaces. “Yes… your twin brother. He was there at the time, when all this happened. I’m not entirely sure what his role was, but they thought you might be dangerous to him and—

“Dangerous? Why?” Harry’s eyes are glossy and wet. “Am I cursed? Is that what happened? I’m a cursed child?”

“Of course not!” Petunia replies, vehemently. “You are a perfect and wonderful child in every way! There’s no such curse— in fact, I highly doubt there’s anything dangerous about you at all.”

Harry looks as though she has no idea how to feel. She has no response— she looks lost in thought. She’s gripping the letter in her hands to the point it's entirely crumpled. Petunia is surprised it hasn’t ripped yet.

“I don’t need another brother.” Harry decides, loudly, after a long moment of silence. “Dudley is bad enough.”

“Hey!” Dudley protests.

Petunia almost palms her face. _That_ was what she was thinking so hard on?

“And I don’t need any more parents, either. Especially not ones who didn’t want me anyway!” Harry declares, steadfast. The spark in her eyes is back, burning brightly. It’s relieving to see. Then again, nothing ever keeps Harry down for long; she’s Petunia’s little ball of gamma energy, as bright and explosive as a blue giant star. “And I don’t need a magical school, either! What was the point of sitting through all those entrance exams if I’m not even going to any of those schools?”

“You only decided on Misuzu because of a stupid boy.” Dudley points out, uncharitably.

“And they have good sports clubs!” Harry adds, pouting.

“ _Harry,_ ” Petunia admonishes, aghast. She had no idea that had been the reason Harry had been so adamant on attending Misuzu, even though she’d been accepted into schools that are arguably better academically.

Harry gives Dudley a mean look for ratting her out. Dudley just looks smug.

She crosses her arms, fidgeting. “W— Well, Nina is going there too! And, and, I really like that I don’t have to travel too far on the trains to get there. And their uniform is cute. And when we went to their school festival it was _so_ fun and everyone looked like they were having a good time.” She tacks on, flustered.

But the damage is already done. Petunia sighs. Well, at least it appears Harry had at least given it _some_ additional thought aside from the fact her crush was going there.

“And Kai is dumb anyway,” Harry proclaims. “So I’m definitely not going there for him.”

At any rate, they are getting off topic. Fortunately, Vernon returns them to the matter at hand with a delicate cough. “Erm, Harry, darling, it is your decision but… will you truly not consider this, this _Hogspeed?_ ”

“Hogwarts,” Petunia corrects, halfheartedly.

Harry purses her lips. “I don’t know.” She admits. “It would be a really big change. It’s so far! I’ve never even been to Earth before! It’s farther than Mars, right?”

Vernon nods. “Yes, much farther. You’ll have to take the new Hyperion-S cruiser to get there in a reasonable timeframe.”

Both Harry and Dudley gasp. “ _The Hyperion-S Cruiser?_ ” They both shout, in unison.

Dudley even leaps from his chair. He looks outraged. “She gets to go on the new Andromeda Class ship? That’s the maiden voyage!”

“I would be on the first trip ever!” Harry enthuses, delighted.

Petunia realizes they’re steering off topic here again. “At any rate, I agree it is a decision that needs to be thought over carefully. Hogwarts is a boarding school that lasts for seven years. You’ll be able to come home for holidays and such of course— although I don’t think the winter break is quite long enough for the trip home…”

Harry’s delighted expression falls when she remembers why she’d be taking the cruiser in the first place.

Petunia desperately wishes she could take Harry by the shoulders and demand her to stay. She knows the girl will listen to her. Harry _loves_ her. If Petunia truly asked her to stay, she would do so in a heartbeat and wouldn’t ever think of Hogwarts, of Earth, again. They could continue to be the perfectly normal family of four, living a (relatively) normal life on a (relatively) normal planet. Or moon, in this instance. At any rate, nothing had to change if she did this.

And yet, Petunia finds herself hesitating.

Perhaps it is because she recalls her own spate of jealousy over her little sister when the girl received her letter. Perhaps because she remembers the sorrowful hours she spent wishing and waiting for her own letter. And now Harry has the opportunity to go to the school Petunia had always secretly wanted to attend. She didn’t really know how she felt about it, but she knew she couldn’t let her own feelings on the matter cloud Harry’s judgement.

“Please,” she says, clasping Harry’s hands in her own. “Promise to give the decision it’s due consideration.”

Harry must hear the solemn promise in her voice, because she’s just as serious as she replies; “Yes, of course, Auntie.”

Vernon clears his throat. “Well, let’s move on from this unpleasant business, shall we? Harry, I have a birthday present for you. It’s a bit early, but I’ll probably be gone for the day itself.”

Vernon reveals a small wrapped box, to Harry’s surprise and excitement.

Harry and Dudley crowd around as she proceeds to open it right there on the floor. They both cry in delight when a… a weird metallic ball is revealed. It’s apparently a cool toy from a new movie, or something. Petunia is just relieved to see them returning to normal after such an arduous— and long overdue conversation. Petunia supposes the crisis is averted— at least for now.

/ ☆ /

“And that’s how I got BB-8!” Harry finishes, with a flourish and a beaming smile. “He’s programmed to do a few things, and I can program him to do more, but I can also levitate him around with magic which is _super_ cool. And I guess it’s allowed here in Diagon Alley, right? How fun!”

Draco is staring at her in both alarm and the general bewilderment he’s beginning to think will be his default emotion whenever he’s faced with this surreal excuse for a human.

Then his gaze swings to his mother, with growing horror.

Narcissa Malfoy is just nodding along politely, smile fixed in place.

He wants to bang his head against the table and _die._ How did he end up in this situation?

Well, after they’d gotten potions requirements crossed off their lists, Draco mumbled something about needing to return to his mother. Harry had bid him a fond farewell without much fanfare, leaving to go pick out her own wand. After Draco had returned to his mother— already on her fourth cup of tea, and quite cross with him for being so late— he apologized profusely and explained the situation. His mother was just as curious at the girl and her background as he wast. She insisted on meeting his new friend. In fact, she said, they should have lunch.

Draco had tried his level best to avoid such a situation. He even tried to complain of a stomach ache, but his mother was having none of it. He knew what this was about. His mother had been in talks with Daphne and Pansy’s mothers since before he could talk, and he knew they were talking about betrothals. The only reason she hadn’t accepted the proposals of the Greengrass and Parkinson families was Draco’s vehement and explosive disapproval. He adamantly insisted he didn’t like either of them, and over the years that only became more and more apparent. Whenever Daphne or Pansy were over, he went out of his way to ignore them— as he did with every viable, pureblood heiress who had ever stepped foot in the manor.

So it was really inevitable that his mother would perk up the moment he mentioned his new friend was, in fact, female.

He hastily backtracked, adding that she was a half-blood, but that hadn’t stopped the light in his mother’s eyes from shining even brighter.

In the end, they’d found Harry exiting Ollivander’s with a disconsolate and difficult expression, something so sad and forlorn that it actually made Draco blurt out the invitation himself just so he could see her face light up again in a smile. At the time, he was quietly thrilled that he could relieve such a heavy expression from her face.

Right now, he was regretting each and every one of his life choices.

Draco turns in the direction of his mother, gaze full of despair.

He can only imagine what is going through her head right now, behind the pleasantly neutral expression.

Narcissa Malfoy takes a sip from her teacup, then places it gently on the saucer.

Then she smiles.

“Jupiter. Why, how positively enchanting.” She says, and for the life of him he can’t tell if she’s being facetious or not. “You know, when I was a little girl, I always dreamed of going to space.”

“You did?” Harry asks, delighted.

_You did?_ Draco thinks, incredulous. Is his mother just being polite?

But then she nods again, and this time his mother is wistful. “Oh yes, you see, in my family everyone is named after stars… except for me.” She adds, after a beat. Her eyes are downcast for a brief moment, before she continues; “My sisters were Andromeda and Bellatrix. My father was Cygnus.”

Narcissa nods in Draco’s direction. “And of course, my son is named after the constellation Draco.”

Harry sighs dreamily. “That’s so wonderful. I wish I had been named after a constellation.”

“Is that so? Which would you like to be?” It’s such an oddly informal question, even more odd coming from his usually formal mother. Draco squints at her. Hold on… is she asking this because she’s genuinely interested in knowing something so worthless about Harry? And what does that mean if she is?

“Hmm, well, blue giant stars are my favorite— so probably Maia? I think it’s a pretty name, and as far as stars go it has a very peculiar chemical makeup. Since its core is mercury and manganese, it's relatively calm and most likely has an atmosphere! How cool is that? It’s a star you might actually be able to live on!”

Draco stares at her like she’s grown three heads. It hadn’t even occurred to him that stars could be made of things, let alone mercury and manganese. Weren’t they just balls of light?

Unfathomably, Narcissa just looks charmed. “How fascinating! You really do know a lot about space don’t you, Harry?”

Harry nods fervently. “Oh yes, I love space. One day, I want to explore the stars!”

“That’s a lovely, wonderful dream.” Narcissa says, kindly.

Draco feels as if he’s stepped into some kind of weird alternate reality. This is not at all how he thought this luncheon would go. He’d assumed his mother would be properly aghast at such a strangely dressed, strangely spoken half-blood of all things, but instead she seems rather fascinated.

Harry blushes. “T— Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I hope I can achieve it someday.”

“Well, a proper lady must always have ambitious dreams.” Narcissa says, loftily. She hails the waiter. “Now, would anyone else like more tea?”

“Yes, please.” Harry nods.

Draco sighs deeply. “I’ll have another as well.” If only he could drown himself in it.

“So, Harry, do you have relatives on Earth?” Narcissa asks, once they’ve settled with yet another pot of rose petal tea.

Harry drops two cubes of sugar into her tea and a generous helping of milk. Draco’s eye twitches involuntarily at the sight. That’s not even tea anymore. It’s basically milk with sugar. “Um, yes I do. My Uncle has family here still, a sister in Herefordshire and parents in Worcestershire.”

“Are you related to your Uncle?”

“No, he’s my Uncle by marriage. My Aunt is my mother’s sister.”

“I see. And Draco mentioned they are both muggles?”

“Yes, they are.”

Narcissa peers at her over the rim of her teacup. “How interesting.” Draco’s eye twitches again. How is that interesting, exactly? “So you are related to your Aunt and Uncle by your mother, on your Aunt’s side. Your Aunt has no family here though?”

“She does not. My grandparents died before I was born.”

“And what about on your father’s side? Any relatives?”

Draco’s head snaps towards his mother, who must notice but pretends she doesn’t. Harry is too focused on the line of questioning to see the grimace on his face.

Oh Merlin.

_Now_ he knows what she’s after.

“Harry doesn’t know anything about her parents.” Draco blurts out, trying desperately to shut this down before it can get any worse.

“Is that so? How unfortunate. But they are both magical, are they not? And Draco mentioned you said your father is a pureblood— perhaps he has relatives, still.”

Harry looks just as desperate as Draco, then. “Oh, I doubt it. And I don’t know much about him. They— err, my Aunt says she and her sister weren’t exactly in good standing when she… uh, asked my Aunt to take care of me. But my Aunt mentioned that my father comes from an old family— aristocracy, in the Magical society.”

“Fascinating,” Narcissa says, eyes bright. “Will you be staying with his family then, while you’re here?”

“Oh— _oh_ no. I don’t know anything about him. In fact, I don’t even know his name. That would be rather awkward, I should think.”

Draco feels foolish for ever discussing Harry’s blood status. He hadn’t meant anything by it— he was just curious how a pureblood could possibly let their heiress leave for _Jupiter_ of all places. At any rate, it was clear he shouldn’t have mentioned it, because clearly his mother was deadset on finding out which family she belonged to. And if it was of good stock, it was becoming apparent Narcissa Malfoy might overlook the fact her mother was a muggleborn and extend an invitation of betrothal to her Aunt. Draco stared down into the depths of his tea. Was it possible he could fit his face in there, and drown himself? This was a serious question.

Perhaps he was overreacting, though.

After all, he was only eleven. His mother was probably just surveying the available options. Harry was the first female Draco has ever voluntarily spent any amount of time with, so it was no surprise she would be interested in getting to know her. But ultimately there would be plenty of witches of better pedigree attending Hogwarts, and his mother would forget about it. He’d just have to make sure to write her every week, and include a random assortment of girl’s names each time. She’d have her hands full meticulously researching each one for some time, and would hopefully forget all about this curious girl from Jupiter.

But Draco let his guard down too soon.

Far too soon.

“Well isn’t that unfortunate. Are you staying nearby with your Aunt and Uncle until term starts?”

“I came here alone actually.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Is that so? And where are you staying? With your muggle relatives?”

“Err— actually, I’m taking the next shuttle back to the moon.” Harry reveals, sheepishly. “My Uncle has secured lodging for me there.”

Narcissa’s eyes, if possible, grow even wider. “The moon,” she repeats, sounding fascinated. But then she shakes her head. “Why, that’s very interesting. But also quite far, I imagine.”

Harry nods. “Yes, somewhat. There’s a shuttle from King’s Cross three times a day though— it takes about half a day to get there.”

“Oh, how lamentable! Well, this won’t do at all. I insist you stay with us.”

Draco drops his teaspoon. It clatters onto the table, and sprays tea all over his shirt.

Narcissa and Harry don’t even notice.

“I…” Harry is at a loss for words— a first. “I… I couldn’t possibly impose on you like this…”

“Nonsense! I can’t very well let a young girl such as yourself travel such a great distance, not to mention stay all by herself! I assure you, we have plenty of room back at the manor. We even have peacocks, pegasi, a quidditch pitch and a lake that’s wonderful for swimming at this time of year. And Draco would just _love_ to have the company, wouldn’t you, Draco?”

Draco stares at her like a deer caught in headlights. His mother discreetly waves her wand, and the stains on his shirt disappear before Harry can see them.

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

He’s flying through appropriate responses that are both polite but still amount to _‘Merlin’s flaming balls of fire hell no’_ when he sees the near demonic look his mother sends him and pales considerably. He pulls his collar, wondering if the room has gotten hot or if his mother is really spitting fire with her eyes.

“That would be… lovely.” He squeaks out.

“Wonderful!” Narcissa claps her hands. “Harry, what do you think?”

Harry looks just as put on the spot as Draco. He wonders if she can feel the heat too. “I… Thank you so much for your generosity. I’d love to.”

/ ☆ /

The man at the head of the table throws his head back and _laughs._

It’s enough to terrify both his companions on either side of him, who are looking at him as if they expect the very devil itself to appear behind him and drag them to hell. Not an entirely impossible scenario, considering the man in question. Many people would happily call him the devil.

“Narcissa, you’ve truly outdone yourself.” The man says, and both their shoulders relax slightly at the warmth in his tone. “Frankly, I should have chosen you as my follower and not this boorish husband of yours.”

Lucius sputters.

Narcissa smiles, but it is strained. “You flatter me, my Lord. But I must confess it is merely a hunch. However, the pieces fit rather suspiciously.”

“I concur.” The man agrees, crimson eyes gleaming. “Did you see the scar?”

Narcissa shakes her head. “I did not. She covers her forehead with her hair. However, I asked the elves to peruse her belongings, and she uses a very common muggle makeup that can cover things even spells cannot.”

Lucius sneers. “Makeup?”

Narcissa refrains from rolling her eyes. “Yes, Lucius. Surely you realize it is a thing most women have?” She raises a brow at him. And then, to the Dark Lord; “It is something normal for women, but highly unusual for a girl her age to own. Additionally, I have not seen her wear any makeup at all. Again, it is just a hunch but I believe she might be using that to hide her scar.”

“You would know better than I,” the Dark Lord points out, amused.

Narcissa’s mouth snaps shut. Yes… she supposes it is a rather odd detail to notice that might seem rather arbitrary to someone unfamiliar with the topic.

She recovers herself quickly. “It’s a specific topical application, that is only used to, quite literally, cover things up. A girl her age with such unblemished skin has nothing she could possibly need to cover up— I imagine her Aunt must have taught her. And on the subject of her Aunt, she already confirmed to me that it is her mother’s sister.”

“Lily Potter has a sister. A muggle sister.” Lucius murmurs. “Severus would likely know her name.”

He turns to the Dark Lord. “What would you like us to do, my Lord?”

“Narcissa has already acted appropriately.” The man replies. “Ask young Draco to continue to maintain a close friendship with her. If possible, it would be ideal to have her return to your Manor for the winter holidays.”

“Are you going to meet her then, my Lord?” Narcissa asks.

“I see no reason to wait.” The man remarks. “She is here now, is she not?”

Narcissa stills, just briefly. “Yes she is.” She confirms. “I believe she and Draco were intending to visit the Pegasus stables today.”

The Dark Lord drums his fingers across the tabletop. “Ah. You recently renovated them, did you not, Lucius?”

Lucius dips his head. “Indeed, my Lord.”

He stands to his full height; a tall, domineering figure dressed in black, handsome features, and cruel crimson eyes. “Perhaps I will make the time today to see them in person.”

/ ☆ /

* * *

_I ADORE translators notes when I read manga. It’s 90% of the reason why I read fan translations as opposed to the official ones (the other 10% is just availability lmao) because they really give you the indepth reasoning as to why they chose this word over that one, what this phrase means in a certain context, etc., and I always found it super interesting and helpful. Anyway, I wanted to do something similar in this story, since it is 10/10 supposed to be a Shoujo manga in word form. When you read it, think of sparkly backgrounds and ridiculous dialogue._

_White Day*: A holiday that’s celebrated mainly in Japan but also in other Asian countries, it’s the opposite of Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day is almost exclusively chocolate, and only given by girls— it’s not a mutually reciprocal holiday like it is in the West, where boyfriends give stuff to girlfriends and vice versa. Guys who received chocolate from girls give a gift in response on this day, which is always a months after Valentine’s day on March 14. This is probably more like the Western holiday, wherein you give gifts that aren’t necessarily chocolate, like flowers, candy, teddy bears and jewelry._

 _Giri* chocolate: On Valentine’s Day there are two types of Chocolate that girls give to boys, the first is ‘Giri Choco_ _義理チョコ_ _’, or ‘obligatory chocolate’. This is what you give to your dad, brothers, coworkers etc. The second is ‘Honmei Choco_ _本命チョコ_ _’, which is given to lovers and shows a romantic interest._

_Natsumatsuri*: Summer festival. No Shoujo Manga is complete without the festival scene!_

_Kimono/Yukata: A yukata is a kimono, afaik. A kimono is technically a style of clothing, while a yukata is a specific form of it. A yukata is a casual summer style of kimono, made of cotton, usually. (As opposed to silk)._ _Obi: The bow that holds the yukata together. It’s normally as much of a fashion statement as the yukata itself. They come in the most gorgeous colors and patterns, and there are a bout a billion different ways to tie it._

_Bento: Lunch boxes, basically. Except way more stylish. Sometimes they have cute faces or decorations._

_Takoyaki: Fried octopus balls. A festival staple._

_Kakigori: Shaved ice. A festival staple._

_Kingyo Sukui: Goldfish catching. It’s a festival game where you try to catch goldfish with a paper net. It’s deceptively difficult._

* * *

_I'll probably edit this later to add in more of the artwork at some point. I'll also be posting it on my tumblr! @slexenskee_

_Koisuru Otomegokoro (恋する乙女心, Falling in Love: A Girl's Feelings): **Sailor Moon OST: Takinori Arisawa ℗ 1992**_


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